Gears Of War: The Origins of The Three Marauders
by Suicidal Skydiver
Summary: Three friends find themselves moving from one dangerous mission to the next, until one fateful day, their military careers are changed forever.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey everyone, thanks for taking the time to read my first attempt at fan fiction. The story I'm trying to write is the background of my three characters, Rick Furzeland, James Palmer and Tom Burch, in particular, their change from CoG Soldiers to Marauders.**

**(The Marauders are, essentially, the Stranded Army. They feature in the Fan Fiction: Reconoitter (sp?) by Screennameless)**

Gears of War: Origins of the three marauders

The three were silhouetted by the large door frame, as they looked into the hall. After a long journey, they had finally arrived at the COG recruiting hall. Slowly, the three started to step forward into the hall, already packed with eager recruits, ready to step forward and fight against the new threat of The Locust.

"Shit guys, 6 months since E-Day, and people are still pouring in to fight" Said the tallest of the three.

"And is that such a bad thing? If people had run dry already, we'd be fucked before you knew it" retorted the middle member of the three.

"Feeling a bit optimistic, eh Rick? Normally you would complain about how long we'd be waiting to sign away our lives". Rick rolled his eyes and walked slightly faster, taking his place in a long line of men around his own age. He brushed his blond hair out of his eyes, and looked around the hall.

The walls were plastered with the typical war propaganda: the symbolic gear logo for the Coalition of Organised Governments ever present. His eyes lingered upon an advert for Gears Crunch, 'the official cereal of The Gears' as he had heard it be called many times before. He wondered if any gears actually ate the cereal they were advertised on. Rick didn't care for how the COG controlled the nation, so long as they did what they were supposed to do: protect it. His eyes then stopped on a poster of the COG's Figurehead, Chairman Prescott, gesturing toward a set of armour and a Lancer, with the bold text beneath it: 'Prescott and the COG needs YOU! Take a Lancer, and your future, into your hands!'

"I see your developing quite the hard-on for the chairman there Rick". Rick turned and slapped his friend across the head playfully.

"Just what I would expect from you James: be as big an asshole you can be. I'd like to see you using that fat mouth out on the field". Suddenly, the third member of the group suddenly chimed in:

"Rick, sorry to break your speech, but the line's moving on…"

The free hurried to fill the extra space that had been made. Eventually, the line spread into three separate lines, each leading to a different desk for recruitment. Rick turned to his two friends.

"Well, it looks like this is where we split." Rick said, grimly. He turned to James and Tom. "Both of you had better take care of yourselves, especially if we aren't going to see each other for a while." James walked to join one of the lines. As he walked, he talked back:

"You're damn right. I don't want to have to say bye to either of you if you can't talk back. Who else would I have to piss off?" For the first time since they entered the room, Tom laughed. As he joined the next line, he muttered

"Nobody else would be able to take your shit like we do."

Rick joined the final line. The hall and the propaganda made it look like they mattered to the COG. Rick hoped that maybe they would, among the countless other faceless soldiers that the management of the COG hid behind.

"Shit, I haven't even joined yet and I'm already like a bitter veteran" he thought to himself. He hoped that he wouldn't end out like many of them surely would: maimed, dead, or insane.

"Baby steps for now. No saving the world if I can't even fire a gun." He stepped forward, where a burly and disgruntled officer waited.


	2. Chapter 2

**Gears of War: The Three Marauders, Chapter 2**

Months had passed, and Rick was nearing the end of his training. He hadn't seen James or Tom since they first enlisted. Rick's body was bruised, battered and tired, yet there was no denying that his body was much stronger and faster than it had ever been. Any training that forced his body into any shape apart from slightly round must have been good training. Forcing his body to move toward his bunk, he squeezed himself out of the restrictive armour and threw himself down onto the bed. He thought back to the recruitment.

"Name?" the gear at the table asked, gruffly.

"Rick Alexandr Furzeland, sir" Rick replied. The gear looked at Rick, curiosity showing through his tired eyes.

"Funny name. I'm guessing you aren't from round here" said the gear, with a slight smile. Rick bit his tongue, and fought hard not to retort: His unusual surname had often been the target of questions on his ethnicity. Furzeland was actually a surname common to 'central' Sera (or the rich part of the world that is often the centre of Seran maps. His middle name was in memoriam of his grandfather, and actually originated in the Seran Bloc. However, arguing about ethnicity was _not_ the right way to join an army, and so Rick answered plainly:

"My Grandfather was from the Bloc, and I inherited my name from him"

"Well, whatever. Before you join the COG army, I need you to sign these papers, saying you're completely ready to join, and large amounts of other legal crap. Not that lawyers are extremely common considering the circumstances…" the recruiter said, trailing off. He slid the papers across the table, along with a pen. Without hesitation, Rick signed the papers.

"Hey, wake up dipshit!" Shouted one of the other recruits Rick shared a dorm with. "They say the Sergeant is round, checking if we're acting like good little soldiers" continued the soldier. Forcing himself out of his bunk, Rick turned to the soldier.

"What the fuck is he expecting to be find? A ten man rookie clusterfuck?" Rick asked, annoyed.

"Jesus Christ man, that's just nasty. Don't give the messenger nightmares!" said the fellow recruit, the disgust audible through his helmet. There was a hammering on the door, and Sergeant Davis, the Superior Officer of the boot camp strode in.

"Alright Gears, just a routine check. We don't want you soldiers getting lax, so close to you joining your squads, and getting into the action". The recruits all stayed silent, as the sergeant checked the room, half-heartedly. They could all tell that this was one part of being in charge that he REALLY didn't enjoy. He stopped in front of one of the rookies. Rick knew why, and pitied the gear: He had misplaced his helmet, and was now sticking out like a sore thumb.

"So, soldier. Why are you without your Helmet?"

"I… I misplaced it sir

"What the fuck kind of pansy excuse is that, _soldier_", replied Davis, making the term sound childish and undermining. The solder didn't seem to hear him. He simply stared at something through the window, wide-eyed and mouth open. Suddenly, a loud crack, and sickening crunch filled the room. The solider fell to his knees, and his headless body thumped as it hit the floor. Sergeant Davis dove to the floor, and the soldiers all did as they were trained: Throw yourself into cover, or die.

"Fuck… _Fuck…_FUCK!" Rick shouted. This was nothing he was used to. They had shot at targets, and slammed themselves into walls so hard that it had shattered some recruits shoulders, but none of their training was remotely like this. Rick heard bullets slam into the walls they were so desperately pressed against for cover.

"Sir" he shouted "what's happening?"

"Locust assault. Fuck, these sons of bitches are getting bold. They were obviously trying to assassinate me first, leaving the training camp as easy pickings. Cut off the head, etcetera, etcetera". Rick was surprised at how calm the CO was in this hell hole, but realised that after years in the Gears, these situations must be like second nature to him.

Finally, the barrage of bullets started to lessen, and eventually stop. Rick started to calm down, but noticed that the sergeant looked tenser than he was at first. Suddenly, he spoke loudly and clearly to the nearby recruits.

"Okay, consider this to be one of the last lessons you'll learn, even if you get out of this damn place alive. Get ready to run, as soon as the shit REALLY hits the fan. Locust only stop firing for one reason, and that's to bring in the REAL heavy hitters." He had barely finished the sentence when something smashed through the wall of the hut. Two recruits were propelled across the room by the force of the assailant, and they crashed into a heap against the opposite wall.

"Everyone be quiet, right now. _Right _now" the sergeant whispered. He emphasised the second 'right' as much as he dared. "We've got a berserker. You remember what we told you about them in training? If not, then you're screwed. Everyone move to the door, but goddamnit stay quiet. If anything triggers her senses, we're dead."

Rick was glad to be nearest to the door, and it didn't take long for him to finally edge out of the room, blood pounding in his ears. He had no desire to look round at the monster that had smashed through the wall. If he had, he doubted he would be able to move, rooted to the spot by fear. Leaving the room turned out to be only slighter safer than staying inside.


End file.
